


Moving Day

by phrazes



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memories, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4323198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrazes/pseuds/phrazes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s moving day for Harry and as he packs up, dark memories of his father come to him. Peter finds a very effective way to make him forget them, involving a lot of nakedness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Day

**Author's Note:**

> A product of 2 a.m. and general mental instability. This might be kinda bad.

All the penthouse has left in it are Harry’s belongings, some passed down to him from his father. He’s taking the leather couches and the lion statue to his new place, a condo with a view of the Hudson River. The best aspect of the condo though, is its distance from Oscorp. He wouldn’t have to make dull small talk with the employees he unavoidably runs into after-hours when all he wants to do is pop into the corner store for a pizza slice and beer. 

Harry opens up the window so Peter can slip through it. “You really didn’t have to come,” Harry says as Peter peels himself off the glass and tugs his red mask away from his face. “I hardly own anything, and I can easily get Felicia to call some movers.”

“This is an advantage to having Spider-Man as a boyfriend. Appreciate it,” Peter says brightly. He crosses the living room and scoops up the widescreen television like it was just a sheet of paper.

“Boyfriend…” Harry mutters to himself. Applying this word to Peter is still a novel thing for him. They’d only been going out for about a month after a very pissed off Felicia Hardy had a one-on-one with him. “I’m tired of you making me reserve a table at Georgian Grove then cancelling because you wimped out on asking Peter to dinner for the hundredth time! The server seriously _sighed_ when I called last time. Please, get it over with! Or I’ll have to use my vacation days to get a break from this romantic drama! Sorry, I’m not sounding very professional right now, but really. Oh yeah, you have a meeting with Alistair Smythe in fifteen minutes. Did you want me to get coffee?”

Harry carries a box of clattering silverware toward the entryway. Meanwhile, Peter webs the end of the couches and yanks the thread toward himself, which forces the couches to come along too, all in one go. Despite Peter being with him, he’s not feeling too good. He’s not feeling good because he’s not at all sad about moving.

This penthouse should’ve been Harry’s home. In his years at boarding school, he successfully managed to spend no more than nine days here, visiting for only a handful of holidays. There was a bedroom for him, but the most character Harry gave it was a glow-in-the-dark sticker of a pterodactyl, stuck onto his dresser when he was thirteen.

Harry steps into the study to pack up his laptop next. In the corner was the armchair Harry sat in for three hours after Mr. Osborn scolded him for sleeping in and not hearing the new maid trying to buzz in.

Harry goes down the hall, his feet slipping over the perfectly varnished wood, a quality he first noticed as he scampered into his bedroom on Christmas day. His father had looked over his credit card bill and realized Harry had bought himself a new cell phone earlier that semester without asking for permission. Mr. Osborn pounded his fist on the kitchen table, and before he could yell anything at his son, Harry bolted into his room where he covered his ears with his pillows.

The last few months Harry spent living at the penthouse as Oscorp’s new CEO hasn’t done much to warm him to the space. Nothing ever really happens in it besides the odd board meeting. Otherwise, it’s Harry and the lion statue watching television in the evenings.

After piling up the boxes by the elevator doors, Harry invites Peter to take a quick break with him. Chairs have been given away or packed up; there’s no proper place to sit and so they settle for the counter of the bar. Harry tears open a bag of pretzels for them, but it goes untouched for the time being as they hydrate themselves with Red Bulls first.

Harry studies the room. He recalls how disconcertingly tall his father looked the times he stood by the window, the one with a cushion seat in front of it, and how he gazed down at the street below, entirely unaware of Harry’s presence.

“What’s up?” Peter asks.

“Nothing.”

“I know that face, Harry. I’ve known it since I was a kid. I can tell when Menken’s annoyed you by how crinkled up your nose gets. And I can tell when something’s bothering you by how blank your eyes go. Like right now.”

“Alright, yeah. Something bothering me,” Harry says, his voice echoing throughout the dining room now that there’s no furniture in it to absorb any sound. “I wish it weren’t so easy to leave. It would’ve meant I had some good memories here.” 

“Right…” Peter says sympathetically. He places his hand on Harry’s knee. He’s since changed into his civilian clothes -- a dark grey t-shirt and loose jeans.

“All it’s ever been is a place to hate my father.”

“We can change that, I think,” Peter says. His tone’s careful. Shy. But the corner of his mouth is raised slightly, like he’s about to tell Harry something he knows he’ll love to hear.

“How? Does being a superhero mean you have the ability to change the past?”

“No. But I’m sure I’ll eventually meet someone who can do that,” Peter says. “Anyway, my idea's way more fun. _Waaaaay_ more fun. Peter chuckles and puts down his drink. He folds his hands into his lap restlessly, looking at Harry and trying to decide on something.

“So...?”

Peter sets his hands on each side of Harry’s face and pulls him in for a kiss. Harry knows what fun thing he’s talking about now.

Harry leans into Peter’s space as he kisses him, right until he’s got him laid along the counter. They’ve both got the same idea -- go slow. Go slow to make Harry’s memories fade. All they do for a while is kiss each other’s mouths and necks until their breaths become deep. Then Peter’s fingers drift underneath Harry’s shirt and they eventually drag the fabric up and off of him. Peter’s shirt comes off too and Harry presses his front against his torso, wanting to feel the warmth he knows is always there.

Peter raises his head up to peck Harry’s smooth white shoulders. It sends tingles up the side of Harry’s neck. A little impatient now, he grazes his hand along the top of Peter’s hip, his fingers deliberately catching the belt line. Peter lets Harry’s fingers roam under the fabric. At the first firm touch on his shaft, Peter’s head tilts up and he quietly moans…

Wanting a little more comfort, Peter eventually steps down onto the floor. They’re both completely bare now, clothes hanging across the counter. Peter grips the back of Harry’s thighs then lifts him up. Harry rests his arms on his shoulders and keeps kissing him as he’s brought over to the window seat in the dining room.

Their moans become louder as their lips and hands wander over each other’s bodies more. Peter lowers himself into the cushions as Harry readies himself. The seat’s too short to fit Peter’s legs, which is just as well because he has to bend them for Harry. Before entering him, Harry massages his thighs. The smoothness of the hair there and the heat of his flesh are, for some reason, very noticeable. So is Peter’s dazed face. The slight bronze on his cheeks comes out from the pure white sunlight casting itself through the window. It runs along Peter’s hair too, making the strands shimmer at the ends. The sunlight goes everywhere, giving the surroundings a brightness Harry’s never seen and it makes Peter that much more gorgeous.

Peter opens his eyes and smiles. “Harry… Harry…” he whispers, voice ragged and fond.

Harry tips himself forward to give him another kiss. The moans that echo down the corridor, the sight of Peter beside the glass, covered in sunshine, and then the firmness of his stomach -- Harry won’t think of much else afterward. It’s strange but amazing that a place could be crammed with dejection and resentment, but nonetheless have room for everything that’s beautiful.


End file.
